The Adamantium Compass
by RedheadedMarina
Summary: Young Charles Xavier is offered a chance for adventure by a mysterious and fascinating visitor to Oxford College. But children are disappearing in Oxford and London; is Charles' opportunity all that it seems? When Erik Lehnsherr loses his younger brother, his interests and Charles' merge as they try to find the children that have vanished. X-Men: FC and "Golden Compass" cross-over.
1. The Emerald Snake

**Author's Note:**_ This is a crossover fiction that combines X-Men: First Class with the world of "The Golden Compass", by Philip Pullman. You will see many (but not all) of the X-Men: First Class characters representing many (but not all) of the characters in "The Golden Compass". The world created by Philip Pullman for "The Golden Compass" is a world similar to our own, but it has several unique characteristics. I've chosen to explain a few below to assist those who may be unfamiliar with the books._

**Daemons**: _Each living person in this world has a "daemon", which is basically an external manifestation of the soul in animal form. It is horrifying to think of a person without a daemon; to us in this world, it would be like someone walking around without a head. Daemons appear in the world with a child when he/she is born, and from the time of birth until puberty the daemons "shift" or "change": that is to say, they might be a bird one moment, and a snail the next, reflecting the moods and feelings of their individual humans. As a child enters puberty, his/her daemon will change less and less often, until it finally "settles" in one form._

_Humans talk with each other, and daemons talk with each other, but it is rare for a daemon to directly address another human than his/her own, or vice versa. Humans and their daemons cannot be far apart from one another; a distance of more than a few yards becomes incredibly painful for both. Most of the time, they stay in physical contact. Daemons are usually (but not always) the opposite gender of their human._

**The Magisterium:**_ A group of "courts, colleges, and councils" that collectively represent the Church, which is the final authority on almost every facet of life. The most feared body of the Magisterium is the "Consistorial Court of Discipline". There is also talk of a "General Oblation Board", whose sources are murky and its purpose unknown._

_This is a world of mutants and non-mutants. They peacefully coexist for the most part. The Magisterium's official line is that all people, mutant or not, are faced with a world of sin and must work to overcome it through following the Church. However, mutants are not to be distrusted or discriminated against because of their abilities. Like the world of X-Men, some people have visible mutations and some do not._

_In this story, Charles is sixteen and Erik is eighteen. Their daemons have already settled._

**_Disclaimer: I do not own, claim ownership, or creation of any character or element that appears in any of the X-Men media, or any of the works of Philip Pullman. This is a work of fanfiction only, with (believe me) no monetary gain by this author_**.

_Chapter 1_

_Oxford_

Oxford College was one of the most magnificent colleges in all of Britain, and probably in all the world, if anyone really wanted to compare. Scholar candidates fought to be admitted. Staff and servant jobs were coveted. The buildings were old, the library older, and the funding unlimited.

A boy named Charles Xavier had been living in the middle of this warren of buildings, books, and Scholars since he was ten and a half. His father, Lord Brian Xavier, had been a renowned Oxford Scholar, but had died suddenly when Charles was eight. Charles' mother had never recovered, preferring instead to succumb gradually to the smoky sweet lethargy brought by opium. When she died two years later, Charles discovered that he was now a Ward of the college, and would be living there until he was of age and came into his inheritance.

In the six years since Charles' arrival, he had discovered almost everything about the College that a boy with a high intellect and a taste for adventure could find. He devoured his studies at a rate that delighted the Scholars, but his favorite thing to be doing was sneaking off with his friend Raven, eating treats stolen from the kitchen (Raven was a kitchen maid), or hiding in the rafters poking plaster shavings onto the head of a lecturing Scholar, or smoking cigarettes in an alleyway, making their eyes look as cold and bored as any one of the older boys or girls that worked in the town.

Raven had arrived in Oxford a few months after Charles, and they became fast friends after she discovered him stealing a bottle of wine. The price for her silence had been to share the wine, and Charles readily agreed, seeing the beginnings of a fruitful partnership. The Scholars had tried to discourage them, repeatedly pointing out that she was a servant and he was nobly born. Charles had nodded obediently and looked at the floor and then gone right back to their normal mischief afterwards. They would occasionally threaten to beat Raven for her presumption, but then Charles would make them forget, and things would go on as they always did.

It wasn't as though he liked Raven _that_ way. She was just the closest person to his age around the College, and the most fun. The Scholars had made Charles go to dances and coming-out parties of nobly born girls, girls that could discuss Experimental Theology or Celestial Geography with him. He would dance with them and make them blush, but it was just because he _could_, not because he wanted to. Raven could change her appearance to look like anyone, absolutely anyone. Because Raven was younger, her daemon Luzaiel would still change, and he would take the form of a creature that could blend in with the bricks, or the grass, and let Raven know when they could do something without getting caught. When Raven had first showed her ability off to Charles, he was impressed, and then immediately asked if she would appear to be the College President and sign his diploma so that he could graduate early. She had laughed and said something about how she could mimic his appearance, but not the handwriting or the College Seals, and he had left it at that, because then they were off to the harbor to steal sausages from a vendor cart.

"I don't know if I'll be able to go out for a while," Raven said that day, as they sat under a tree sharing a cigarette, their mouths still greasy from the sausages.

"Why's that?" Charles asked, ostentatiously blowing smoke into the air.

"Head cook says they's somebody out there stealing kids. She wants to make us all us young ones stay inside Oxford when there's no work."

"She wants that anyway."

"Yeah, but she's serious. I seen her talking to the Constables the other day." Raven took the cigarette back.

"That's not to keep you in, that's cause you stole that chicken for us."

"She doesn't know that."

"She does; I told her."

Luzaiel became a crow and squawked in outrage, while Charles' Maaike (a silver Bengal cat) lazily started to groom a paw in response.

"You never," Raven laughed, flicking ashes at Charles. Charles blew the ashes back at her, again causing Luzaiel to squawk again, then change into a squirrel so that he could scurry up the tree a foot or two.

"Nah, I never. You think there's really somebody stealing kids?"

"En't there always? You do something stupid, you get what you deserve."

"Then why en't you gotten it yet?"

Raven laughed and kicked him, and he punched her back in a friendly way. Maaike leapt off of Charles' lap and swatted playfully at Luzaiel, who turned into a butterfly and bobbed around her head in revenge.

"Don't worry about it, Raven. En't nobody stealing kids."

But there was, and this was how it would happen.

**xxx**

_London_

A little girl walks through the industrial section of London, taking care to avoid the murky pools of slick that collect after the fish gutters complete their day's work. Her daemon Kintros runs up her sleeve as a mouse and tucks himself inside her collar, where it's warmer. She is hungry; there isn't anything at home for her to eat, and there won't be until her father returns in a few days.

Her name is Moira McTaggert, and she is the child who will disappear.

Moira is heading for a restaurant near Canary Wharf where they know her father; sometimes, they let her wash dishes or sweep in exchange for some leftover scraps. The restaurant doesn't open for another hour, though, so Moira sits quietly on the back steps and wraps her arms around herself. Kintros peeks out, then jumps down on the step next to her and begins to groom his whiskers.

A few feet away, a very handsome man watches her, a faint smile on his face. Moira is too hungry and cold to notice. His daemon, a vibrant emerald snake, slowly uncoils from the man's arm and slides down to the pavement, moving towards Kintros. The snake's color is so bright, and her eyes so mesmerizing, that Kintros can't help but be enticed. He scampers towards her a bit, hesitates, then hops forward again.

Moira feels Kintros' interest, and turns. Her eyes widen in alarm when she sees the snake. "Kintros, no!"

The man steps out slightly, not enough to frighten her. He smiles and places a finger to his lips, gesturing that Moira should watch the two daemons. She does, and Kintros finally gets close to the beautiful green snake, and she turns her head away so that Kintross can touch her glossy scales and hop over her tail. She coils back on herself and nudges Kintros' own tail with her nose, and they are playing.

Moira smiles at the man, and he smiles back. "What's your name?" His voice is deep and kind.

"Moira McTaggert."

"Are you hungry, Moira?"

She pauses. "No."

His blue eyes crinkle with his smile. "Well, I'm glad you're not hungry. If you were, though, I'm giving a party. My friends couldn't come, and there's more food than I can eat. Some other children are there, if you want to come and see if there's anything you like."

"Do I hafta stay?"

"Not if you don't want to."

The restaurant won't be open for another hour. "Okay, then," she decides, and Kintros changes into a sparrow and flies to her shoulder. The man gestures down the street, and Moira walks away with him.

**xxx**

_Oxford_

A few days later, Charles was being marched along the corridor by Scholar Hecart, one of the youngest and most agile of the faculty at Oxford. He had been dispatched to retrieve Charles and make sure he showed up for dinner properly dressed and groomed. While Charles was old enough to do this himself, experience had taught the Scholars that supervision was the best method. Charles was fast, but Scholar Hecart was tall and fast, and the result was the hand on Charles' collar pushing him along to his rooms.

Once inside, Scholar Hecart looked Charles up and down. "Bathe. Your evening clothes are laid out for you. White tie." He grabbed Charles' hand and wrinkled his nose at the filth. "Nailbrush, definitely." His badger daemon huffed at Maaike, who gave him an icy stare in return. Hecart then brushed an assessing finger across Charles' cheek. "Shave. If you go for the window I'll see you copying notes for at least a month. Wash your hair and slick it back, too." Hecart dragged a chair in front of the door and pulled several papers out of his robes, apparently getting comfortable for the duration. Maaike's tail bristled, but Charles didn't speak. He waited until Hecart pointed towards the door. "Go, then."

Maaike was perched on the bathroom shelf, trying to avoid the drops of water Charles flung about as he washed. "What do you suppose this dinner is for?" she asked him.

"I dunno, Mai. It's not the end of the quarter or anything."

"Must be someone important coming to visit."

"Someone boring."

"Maybe, but you still better behave," Maaike warned. She wrapped her tail around herself and fixed her gaze on Charles.

"I will if I feel like it." Charles looked in the steamy mirror and lathered his face with scented soap. "I en't an old man, en't acting like one."

"You'll do whatever you have to do to get them to graduate you."

Charles tightened his jaw and paid extra attention to shaving with the straight razor. Maaike was right. Charles had finished all of his College work, but due to an ancient College law, he couldn't be admitted to the new Scholars' class until he turned eighteen, which was still two years away. The Scholars would, of course, prefer to keep Charles (and his eventual inheritance) snug at the College until that time, but Charles couldn't be held back from graduating much longer. Once he was officially a graduate, he would still be a College Ward, but compelling him to stay on campus became much more difficult. And, to be honest, Charles knew the idea of him on the campus with nothing to do made more than one Scholar blanch and reach for the tobacco.

Charles wanted to be a Scholar...someday. He didn't want to get lulled into the security of Oxford life, and then wake up twenty years later realizing he had never left, never actually done any of the things he read about. He knew the Scholars wanted him (and the inheritance) here, but they couldn't do anything about the law. Charles planned to take full advantage of that.

Charles wiped his face with a towel and shook scented oil on his hands, brushing them through his hair fiercely before slicking it back with a comb. He shoved the door open and went to his bed where his evening clothes were laid. He pulled on the clothes with as much anger as he dared, which, given their delicate fabrics, wasn't much. He tucked his shirt, fastened his cufflinks, buttoned his waistcoat, and tied the heavy silk tie, before shrugging on his dinner jacket and shoes. Maaike jumped into his arms and he presented himself to Scholar Hecart.

"Well enough," Hecart said, gathering his papers as his daemon perched on his shoulder. Go down to the Foyer and wait for the Steward to show you in. Don't sit down in the Foyer; don't loosen your tie. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, sir, every word," Charles muttered.

"Excellent. Be polite and don't you dare say 'I dunno', or wink at anyone."

Charles moved quickly down the hallways into the main Foyer, glad that he didn't meet Raven along the way. One glimpse of him trussed up in this outfit would earn him days of merciless teasing. His alacrity meant that he arrived in the Foyer with at least ten minutes to spare. He let Maaike down so she could pace, then went to the window and started to lean out; that would dirty his elbows, he realized, so he pulled back. He went to sit and then realized he had promised not to. His mood growing blacker by the second, he went back to the window and Maaike jumped up to brush her face against his.

"Calm down," she told him with a purr. "Be charming. Whoever it is, it can't hurt if they like you."

At that moment, the Steward opened the heavy oak doors and looked around for Charles. The Steward was a servant, so his daemon was a dog. However, he was a superior servant, so she was a superior dog: a Gordon Setter. She stood behind him as the Steward crooked his gloved finger at Charles.

"You can come in now, Master Charles."

Charles entered and went to stand at the place that the Steward indicated for him. He would be sitting a little further up from his usual seat; that was interesting. The bell rang, and the Scholars entered in order of rank, the newest Scholars coming first. Each man was wearing his formal academic gown and hood. After they were all standing in place, the College President entered, his owl daemon perched on his hand.

Charles noticed the one place still empty was to his left, next to the Sub-Rector.

The President cleared his throat. "Faculty of Oxford, I am pleased to introduce our guest for this evening: Lord Sebastian Shaw."

Charles bowed, and kept his eyes on the floor until he saw a pair of shiny calf-skin shoes stand at the place next to him. He rose from the bow but kept his eyes down; as a student and a Ward, it was up to this distinguished person to initiate an introduction, if he chose to do so.

"Young Charles Xavier, I understand?" The man's voice was kind, with a bit of a Colonial accent. I've heard quite a lot about you."

Charles raised his eyes and took the man's proffered hand. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lord."

Lord Shaw's daemon was a striking emerald snake, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.


	2. The Missing Gyptian

_Chapter 2_

_Oxford_

"So, Charles," Lord Shaw said confidentially as they were all seated, "I have to confess that I'm not used to all the grandeur here at Oxford. Will you nudge me if I pick up the wrong fork?"

Charles stifled a laugh and looked at Lord Shaw with interest. "Are you a visiting Scholar, my Lord?"

Lord Shaw rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. "I've never had the discipline to stay inside long enough to earn such an honor, to be honest," he said. "I enjoy working in the field too much."

"Really?" Charles was riveted.

"Oh, indeed," he replied, taking a bite of roasted swan. "In fact, I spent three months in Greenland last year taking measurements of the Aurora. But tell me more about yourself, Charles. Is it true you're close to finishing your degree?"

Charles found himself talking freely with Lord Shaw, telling him of everything in his life from studies to escapades to Raven. "...and we have all kinds of fun. Her daemon Luzaiel still changes, so he can blend with the background and then tell her when we can get outside the College, or when someone's not watching something."

Shaw chuckled. "So, you and Raven get up to a bit of trouble, do you?"

Maaike went completely still in his lap, and Charles stopped, realizing to whom he was talking. "Not...really, my Lord. I mean, we'd never do anything bad, we just..."

Shaw's chuckle turned into a laugh, and Charles quailed as a few of the Scholars turned their heads towards him. "No, no, my boy, you misunderstand me. I've never had too much use for following rules. Why, it would be tragic if you never had any fun in such a magnificent place as this." Charles smiled gratefully, and Shaw went on. "But, tell me, Charles, now that you're going to graduate early, what will Oxford do with you then? Do you want to be a Scholar someday?"

This was dangerous ground with a guest; he shouldn't appear ungrateful. "To be honest, my Lord, I owe a great deal to Oxford. If they should accept me to be a candidate Scholar, I should be very honored."

"Honored you will be, I've no doubt," Shaw said jovially, wiping his hands after a dip in the fingerbowl. "But is that what you _want_?"

Even more dangerous ground. "I...yes," Charles said firmly. "I do want to be a Scholar."

"Then I'm sure that is exactly what you'll achieve," Shaw said kindly, and turned to his left to converse with the Sub-Rector.

Maaike stretched up to whisper in his ear. "You didn't do anything wrong," she soothed. "He couldn't go through the dinner without talking to the Sub-Rector. He already talked to you far longer than was polite."

"You think I bored him?" Charles whispered back. "I should have asked him to talk about his work, instead of telling him stupid stuff about me and Raven."

"No, he liked it," Maaike reassured him. "He talks about his work all the time, he looked like he enjoyed hearing about you."

Charles smiled as he glimpsed the appearance of a raspberry tart, and gave Maaike a gentle scratch on her cheek.

**xxx**

For weeks after the dinner party, nothing changed and there were no more children reported missing. The Head Cook did make Raven and the other young servants stay in for a while, but eventually the rule was forgotten about. Then a few children disappeared in Birmingham, then Sheffield, then Manchester. Everyone had heard of someone who knew of a child that had disappeared. There were all kinds of stories about who was taking the children and why. One was that the children were being fattened up and sold to wealthy Tartars as slaves. Another said that only children with mutations were being taken, and they were being trained for a circus. Still another said that the children were being used to climb into tiny mine shafts and dig for aureate.

The legend of a shadowy group of beings that were responsible for taking the children grew along with the number of children missing. Some said that the leader was a beautiful lady; others said it was an ugly youth that piped a flute so beautifully that the children danced as they disappeared into the night. However, one thing that everyone agreed on was the name of these mysterious kidnappers. It was too difficult to continually refer to a mysterious group without a name, and the name that stuck, without anyone knowing why, was the Gobblers.

_"Don't be out after dark, or the Gobblers'll get'cha!"_

_"My auntie in Norfolk, she knows a woman whose little boy was took by the Gobblers..."_

_"Gobblers took two kids offa train to London. They're comin' south fer sure!"_

But, there were always stories such as these, and Charles took little interest in them, until he heard of a boy gone missing from a gyptian family he knew. It was close to the time of the Market Fair, and the streets were clogged with vendors and traders dealing in everything from apricots to horses. Charles was sauntering along the edge of the Port Meadow boatyard one morning, waiting for Raven and thinking of nothing but what kind of food he might charm from a vendor. A shout from a voice he recognized broke his reverie.

"Where'd you let him get off to, you beetle-headed clotpole?"

Charles stopped and looked around immediately, because this was Magda Lehnsherr, known as Ma Lehnsherr, and she was a force to be reckoned with. The entire Lehnsherr family was known for the speed and grandeur of their boats; it was whispered that some of the family could smooth metal using only their voice. Charles caught sight of Ma Lehnsherr, rage in a calico dress, shouting at a horse trader who was making supplicating gestures with his hands.

"I dunno where he went," the trader was saying, holding his raccoon daemon tightly to his side. "He was here and then gone."

"He was helping you! He was holding your moldy horses for you!" This was Erik Lehnsherr, one of the older boys of the family. He was standing next to his mother, looking like he'd gladly rip the trader's head off.

"Well he shoulda stayed there and not run off in tha' middle of a job, then! Useless br-"

He was interrupted then by Erik sending a punch to the side of his head, followed by Ma Lehnsherr with a barrage of slaps. The trader turned to run, with onlookers jeering and daemons hooting in derision.

Charles turned to a gyptian child that had been watching, open-mouthed. "What's she angry about?"

"It's her kid," said the boy. "Pietro. She figures the Gobblers got him, I reckon."

"What's them Gobblers?" a gyptian girl asked.

"They're nothing," Charles replied, giving his best Scholar look to both children. "Don't be telling lies."

"They's pirates that steal kids to clean the bilges," the boy replied.

"No, not pirates," another child loftily corrected. "Cannaboles. They eat kids, that's why they called the Gobblers."

"En't no Gobblers in Oxford," Charles said dismissively.

"They do be," said another child. "Least, they might be. I en't seen Pietro meself since we landed yesterday-"

Suddenly, Erik was there, clouting the child on the back of the head while his daemon, a peregrine falcon, dove at the child's polecat daemon. The polecat hissed and became a skink, scuttling up the boy's sleeve and out of the way of her sharp beak.

"Shut it, Billy," Erik said menacingly. The boy dodged a further blow and ran off towards another boat. Erik and his daemon both turned to Charles. "You seen Pietro?"

Charles shook his head. "No, I just got here. I en't seen Pietro since I last saw you, and that's been months." He glanced back at Ma Lehnsherr. "Your ma's really lit up."

Erik nodded once, then took a breath. "He wouldn't've just walked off."

The falcon let out a screech, and Maaike hissed softly in solidarity.

"He's about," Charles tried to reassure him. "It's crowded, that's all. I'll help you look."

Erik started to reply, but another wail from his mother turned his head, and he started back to her in long strides. "I'll maybe see you," he tossed back at Charles.

Maaike had been twining herself around Charles' ankles, and jumped up to his shoulder as soon as he reached down to her. "Pietro's not really gone, is he?"

"No," Charles said, his fingers absently stroking her fur. "That trader's just dullheaded. He wasn't even watching his own horses, if he didn't see Pietro go."

Maaike wrapped a paw around the back of his neck. "Let's look," she suggested. "You can grab a few of the others and go through the market. You're the oldest here, tell off these kids to look for him too."

"Right." Charles turned and stared down the group of children, town and gyptian, that were gathered to watch the commotion. "All you lot, go and look for Pietro. Everywhere you think he might be, understand? And if any of you say the word 'Gobblers' around Ma Lehnsherr, I'll make you sorry for it."

That started a rush. All of the children ran off in twos and threes, their daemons changing into birds and other animals that could climb to higher vantage points. Other children joined, some having no idea what they were looking for, and thinking it was just a game. Charles sat by the wharf, smoking a cigarette and waiting for some of his young subjects to return with information, or Pietro himself.

As the sun crested over noon, he became more worried. The gyptian world was tight knit, and a child being gone for an hour or so was never a reason for concern like this. Every gyptian mother knew that if her child wasn't right in her sight, then it wasn't far from someone else who would love and protect it instinctively. But now, Charles could see that Ma Lehnsherr was still frightened, and the daemons with the growing group of adults were all angry as well, feathers ruffling and fangs showing.

Some of the children returned to Charles, and from what he could gather, the last time Pietro had definitely been seen was around seven that morning, when he had agreed to hold horses for the trader. No one had seen him go, and no one had seen him since. Charles would have sent the children out to look again, but parents were appearing, calling children back to boats and shops and wagons. Ma Lehnsherr had finally been convinced to go inside the boat cabin, while some of the gyptian men and older boys stayed on the deck, talking in low tones. Trading seemed to have been forgotten.

With a chill, Charles realized someone else had been forgotten: Raven. She was going to meet him that morning after breakfast; the sun was now dropping behind the Cathedral spire. Charles turned and began to run through the narrow streets back towards the College, with Maaike galloping alongside him.


	3. The President's Study

His shoes clattering on the paving stones, Charles ran through the main gates of Oxford College and headed towards the kitchens. He burst in through the door, searching between plumes of steam and stacks of silver chargers. More than one daemon, trotting alongside their humans, growled at Maaike and she hissed in return.

"Where's Raven?" he shouted at the room.

"Clear out, Charles! We're busy here!"

"You en't seen Raven?" he yelled towards Mrs. Lonsdale, the housekeeper, which was a mistake. A nearby under-chef smacked his head with her wooden spoon for his impertinence. He glared at her, rubbing the back of his head. "Raven's been gone all day. En't you worried?"

The under-chef worked furiously, never taking her eyes off of the bubbling pots under her command. "Charles, boy, you better unnerstand that we's all working 'ere. There's a hunnert places Raven might be. I en't got time to leave this en go lookin' for her. You shouldn' be spending yer time thinking 'bout her. Now get out and let us finish the dinner!"

Charles drew breath to yell again, but was stopped by Bertie, the pastry cook. Bertie took his arm with one hand, and slipped a cream eclair into Charles' hand with the other. "Come on, you're upsetting people. Go outside, now."

Charles held up the pastry, cream seeping out where his fingers dug in. "I en't a baby! You can't put me off with a sweet, Bertie!"

Bertie sighed as his daemon growled low under her breath. "It's all I got, and you better be grateful nobody's called a Scholar to deal with you yet. Raven's about. She'll probably walk in here soon as you're outside, but outside you're going, Charles, and right now."

Charles allowed himself to be propelled out the kitchen doors, Maaike following, her ears flattened in anger.

**xxx**

Charles was sulking out by the courtyard fountain when he heard his name being shouted down from a window. "Oy! Charles!" It was Abbott, one of the Sub-Rector's assistants. "You're to come in straightaway."

"But I en't done nothing!" Charles yelled back.

"President's study, tea, half-five," Abbott shouted in reply. He smiled as Charles turned quickly to check the large clock: it was already twenty past. "Better leg it."

Charles jumped up and splashed his hands in the fountain, using the water to give his face and hands a quick scrub as he ran. The President's study, naturally, was at the top of one of the buildings where the view was best. His side burned and his legs complained as he pounded up the stairs. Skidding onto the top landing, he reached for Maaike and held her against him as they both struggled to catch their breath. He allowed them both to rest until he heard the clock chime the half-hour, and then he let Maaike down and they both stepped out of the stairwell into the President's outer office.

The floors were dark wood, polished to a shine and covered by deep maroon carpets. Paintings of former Presidents and their daemons were displayed on the walls at intervals. It was tradition for the sitting President to have a nameplate, but no portrait; Charles wondered if the President ever came out to examine his empty place and wonder how much longer it would be before he too became a face on the wall.

The study door was slightly ajar. Charles blinked; normally the door was always closed, and the Secretary or another underling would have made Charles wait for a suitable interval. With no one else about, he stepped to the door and knocked quietly.

The President's voice rumbled gently from inside the room. "Come in, Charles."

Charles touched the door and it swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. The President wasn't sitting behind his desk, but instead was sitting in one of the armchairs beside the fireplace, with tea set out on a table in front of him. The creases in his elderly face deepened as he smiled up at Charles. "Have a seat, my boy."

Charles obeyed, moving to the armchair and sitting down carefully, making sure his back stayed straight and his feet were flat on the floor. The President's daemon was perched on his shoulder, regarding Charles with dark, hooded eyes. Maaike respectfully tucked herself behind Charles legs.

"Tea, Charles?" The President asked, picking up the teapot himself. Charles tried to keep the surprise off of his face. "Thank you, Sir."

The older man busied himself with teapot and silver spoon, his movements surprisingly experienced for one of such a revered status. "I have been meaning to have a talk with you for some time, Charles, about your future here. You know that we have been happy to teach you; you have a superior mind and have always put forth the best effort in your studies. It hasn't always been easy for you to obey us, but we have always been very fond of you."

Despite his effort, surprise did color Charles' face at that statement, delivered with genuine affection. The President smiled again. "Oh, yes. There is a great deal of goodness in your nature, Charles, as well as courage. You suffered greatly with the death of your parents, as any child would. Not every child, however, would face it with such fortitude and determination." He offered Charles a teacup, indicating that Charles should also help himself to the milk, sugar, and lemon also displayed. Charles simply took the offered cup and ignored the milk and sugar he loved.

"I am glad you have such strength of character," the President went on, "because you will certainly need it as you go forward. We have taught you many things here at Oxford, and from an intellectual standpoint you are the match of any of the Scholar candidates here. But you are about to graduate, and there are things you need to learn that cannot be taught in the classroom."

Charles simply stared, the tea cooling in his hand. How did the President know what he was feeling?

"Sir...are you going to send me away?"

"You might think of it as an apprenticeship. We should be glad to welcome you into the Scholar's candidates when you are eighteen, but you need to have experience in the outside world before then. If you agree, I have received an offer that will allow you to gain such experience. It is farther away than I would like, I admit, but the opportunity is an excellent one."

Excitement mixed with fear roiled in Charles' stomach. This morning, before Pietro, he wouldn't have thought twice about the opportunity to get away from Oxford and see the world. Now, for the first time, he realized that the world outside held corners that were more sinister than he had encountered before.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Charles," the aged man said kindly.

"Sir...may I ask...with whom would this apprenticeship be served?"

"You met him a few weeks ago, Charles. Lord Sebastian Shaw."

Charles was stunned. "Really, sir?"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, Sir, I would."

"Well, then." The President sat back, his face a little more serious than one might have expected after reaching such an agreement. "Let's bring him in to discuss it, shall we?"

Charles' eyes widened even further as the President touched the bell to one side. A moment later, his footman was at the door. "Lord Shaw, Sir."

Charles jumped to his feet, miraculously avoiding spilling his tea. Lord Shaw was there, wearing a suit that was more understated but no less elegant than the evening attire Charles had seen him wearing at the dinner. His snake daemon was curled over his shoulder. Shaw bowed slightly towards the President. "Sir, I hope this means good news."

"As you say, Lord Shaw," he replied. "Young Charles has agreed to work with you on this apprenticeship."

"Exceptional." Shaw turned his gaze on Charles. "I hope you realize it will be quite a bit of work, Charles."

"I don't mind, sir," he said a bit breathlessly. "I can work, I can do whatever you need."

"You'll mostly be assisting me with keeping my papers in order and doing some basic calculations."

"I can do that, sir."

"We may be traveling quite a bit."

"I don't mind, sir."

"It could be a bit dangerous, you understand. We may go to the North, or other areas that are...less than civilized. It won't be like Oxford."

"That's wonderful!" Charles burst out, before realizing what he had said and turning to the President. "I mean - forgive me, Sir, I didn't mean - "

The old gentleman laughed. "I understand, Charles, it's quite exciting." He rose to his feet as well. "Since we are agreed, Charles, I suggest you go to your dinner and then have an early night. You and Lord Shaw will be leaving on the dawn zeppelin. I'll send orders for your things to be packed for you. Run along now."

Charles placed his teacup back on the small table, then turned again to Lord Shaw. "Goodnight, sir, and thank you."

"Goodnight, Charles. I'll see you at breakfast."

Charles was at the doorway before he remembered who was responsible for all this, and he turned back to the President in embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, Sir. Thank you for this opportunity."

"You are welcome, my boy."

Once Charles had exited the outer office, Maaike jumped into his arms and nipped his chin with excitement. "Can you believe it?" she whispered.

"The North!" he said incredulously. "I never thought we'd get to travel there, Maaike, I never did!"

"And he said other places too, maybe. It's just what you hoped for!"

"I know!" He was off running again, this time to his rooms, as fast as he could possibly go. He and Maaike brushed past more than one servant and a Scholar or two, leaving shouts and the squawk of a daemon behind him. He reached his room, tore inside and slammed the door, then went straight for the window, flinging it upwards as fast as he dared. He climbed out onto the roof, Maaike behind him, and only then did he let out a shout of joy, startling a few birds upwards into the evening sky.


	4. The Dawn Zeppelin

Charles had been too excited to go to bed that night, but when he finally did fall asleep it was deep and dreamless. It seemed he had been sleeping for only a few minutes when a hand shook him awake in the pitch dark. Charles tried to ignore it and stay sleeping, but the shaking was insistent.

"Charles...wake up...quiet now...wake up, boy..."

It was Scholar Hecart. He was standing there with a candle, fully dressed at this early hour. He pulled Charles closer and bent to speak in his ear.

"Listen, Charles, the President wants to see you before you have breakfast with Lord Shaw. Go right now, across the courtyard. He's waiting for you in the Rector's office, understand? No, don't get dressed - use this," and he produced a black Scholar's robe and dropped it over Charles' head.

"Put on your shoes. Go straight to the Rector's office and tap quietly on the window. When he's finished talking to you, come straight back. I'll make sure your clothes are ready. Quickly, now."

Charles put his shoes on and walked out into the hallway. Had Lord Shaw decided to leave earlier than planned? No, they would at least have let him get dressed, no matter how early. The unfamiliar robe coupled with the feeling of shoes without stockings made traveling down the stairs feel a bit odd, but he managed well enough. Maaike's fur was mussed and he could tell she felt uncomfortable, too. Charles pushed the stairwell door into icy air, and crossed the courtyard towards the Rector's office.

He could still pick out a few constellations in the night sky: the Charioteer was there, and the Three Towers, and the Scales were just disappearing into a purpling dawn over the chapel. Charles reached the office and tapped once on the window. A curtain was pulled back briefly, and then the President himself, also fully dressed, was opening the door and guiding Charles inside.

"Good boy. Come in quickly, we haven't got very long."

"Aren't I going with Lord Shaw still?"

"Yes, I can't prevent it," replied the President, and Charles didn't notice in the moment how odd that sentence was. "Charles. I want to give you something, but you must swear to keep it absolutely private. Will you promise that to me?"

"Yes, sir, of course," Charles said uncertainly.

The President took out a red velvet pouch from inside his robe. He handed it to Charles and gave a nod when Charles hesitated before opening it.

It was a thick silver disk, with a width just smaller than his palm. As Charles turned it over, he could see that the insides were like a watch, covered in glass and holding gears that locked together and looked like they should turn.

"What is it?" Charles asked.

"It's an alethiometer."

Charles turned it over. There were hands, too, pointing in different directions, but the outer rim was covered in little symbols, not numbers. It was larger and heavier than any pocket watch he had seen a man wear.

"What does it do?"

"It helps you find the truth." Charles looked up in surprise, and saw the President's face looking back at him with compassion. Maaike made a soft sound of dismay. "Charles, my boy, you have known for a while that you've had abilities that surpass simple intellect. It was one of the reasons your father entrusted you to us. Now that you're leaving, you will have to take responsibility for what you're able to do. In order to take responsibility for it, you must first learn what you're capable of. The alethiometer will help you do this. I am giving it to you because I trust you."

The President smiled gently as he continued. "No more making Scholars forget to give you lessons, Charles, or getting a vendor to give you sausages. Now, you must turn your energies towards something new. You must learn to find the truth instead of making it yourself."

Charles looked at the alethiometer, gently turning it over in his hands. "How does it work?"

"We don't know. We haven't been able to discover this since it came into Oxford's possession. All I can tell you is that it's meant to be read, and that you must learn how to do it."

Charles nodded slowly, trying to hide his dismay. The fact that there was something that the President of Oxford did not know seriously altered Charles' vision of the world. He looked down and concentrated on re-wrapping the velvet around the disk.

"There's more, my boy." He paused for a moment as his owl daemon ruffled her feathers. "Your friend Raven has disappeared from Oxford, along with a few other children."

"Pietro..." Charles breathed.

"Yes, the young Pietro as well. All of the children taken have powers beyond the norm, Charles, as you do. We do not know where they've been taken, or why." He sighed. "We have tried, to no avail. This is one of the first things you must work to find out."

"Sir, of course I will. I'm sure that Lord Shaw can help-"

"No, Charles. This is something you must keep to yourself. This and the alethiometer."

"But...why? He's got lots of friends in London, he must know people at Scotland Yards-"

"Charles, you swore to me," and Charles felt the true weight of that promise settle on to his shoulders.

"Yes sir."

"You must go back now. Bless you, my boy." He touched Charles affectionately on the cheek. "Don't be afraid of your strength. We have often asked you to look beyond the facts; now you know enough to ask that of yourself. Bless you, Charles."

Charles was hustled out the door, and the President closed it without another word. He stood there for a moment, then caught Maaike up in his arms and walked back to his room as the sun's first rays touched the fountain.

**xxx**

Charles sat before a breakfast larger and more sumptuous than he had been allowed in quite some time. Eggs, kedegree, kippers, sausages, tomatoes, black pudding, cream, scones, and more were on the table, with dishes being replaced quickly and silently. Charles ate with enthusiasm, making sure to have some of everything on the table.

Lord Shaw looked up at him over the morning papers. "A good appetite, eh, Charles?" Charles tried to look sheepish around a mouthful of eggs, and Shaw laughed. "I'm glad to see it. From now on, you must always eat a full meal at every sitting, Charles, because sometimes we won't have time to stop. You'll need to keep yourself at full strength."

Charles nodded, and gave his attention to a scone with lemon curd as Shaw looked back at the paper. Maaike was curled up beside him, lying partially on his coat pocket. By the time Charles had returned, Scholar Hecart had only his traveling clothes in the room; everything else had been packed and sent on already. He felt a bit odd, carrying something so important right in his pocket, but he hadn't had a choice.

Then, the Porter was calling that the horses were at the door; Charles jumped up and attempted to wipe his face and put on his coat at the same time. Shaw laughed again and stood behind Charles to help him with his coat.

"Excited, Charles? I'm glad. We'll be going on a true adventure, and when you next see Oxford, it will be through the eyes of a seasoned traveler. Up in the carriage now, we don't want to miss the zeppelin."

Charles had to remind himself that he was _not_ twelve and that it was _not_ appropriate for him to bounce on the blue velvet seat, no matter how springy it might feel. Oxford passed in front of his eyes with great speed; he strained to see if the Lehnsherr boat still remained at the wharf, but it was beyond his sight. Then, they were at the air dock; Shaw produced papers that caused the port boys to touch their caps to Charles and hurry the baggage up the bridge. Shaw guided Charles after them, and then he was sitting in a seat by the window, watching Oxford shrink away as the zeppelin floated into the sky.

At first, Shaw worked on some papers, leaving Charles to stare out the window, looking down and trying to trace the rivers below to see how long it would be before they reached London. Then, Shaw put his papers away, Charles took his eyes from the window, and Shaw began to talk.

And, what a conversation! Shaw discussed some of his latest research, but stopped to ask Charles which concepts he was familiar with, and which not; Charles was familiar with enough of them to bring a pleased smile to Shaw's face. Then there were topics that were beyond Charles: talk of Embassies, Ambassadors, The Royal Arctic Institute, as well as readings and lectures given by famous explorers and scientists. Charles wouldn't _have_ to attend, Shaw reassured him; it was not like studying at school. But, he might often want to attend, and that would be fine, as long as it didn't interfere with his work for Shaw.

As well, there were gatherings that Charles would be expected to attend with Shaw: concerts, dances, and the Opera. These might seem to be completely social gatherings, but Shaw assured him they were not; one might not be able to speak to a venerated scientist after his lecture, but often he would be able to speak briefly if they were both attending the same concert. Shaw would help Charles get new clothes just for occasions like these.

They were landing, though Charles hadn't realized it; Shaw saw his confused expression and explained that the zeppelins hovered over the ground and were lashed down just enough to keep them in place; that was why he hadn't felt them touching the ground again.

"They never touch the earth, Charles, that's why some people call them "angel-ships", since they're not on the ground with us sinful folks." They were walking through the crowded station, bypassing the trains and going straight out on to the street. Shaw looked up and raised a hand; a carriage with two bay horses came out of line and directly over to them.

"Jump up, Charles, leave your bags and Sands will get them for you - Sands, this is my new assistant, Charles Xavier." Sands was a burly man with brown eyes and a quick smile, and he winked at Charles to boot. "Welcome, Mr. Xavier," he said, simultaneously shaking Charles' hand and tossing up one of the bags. Charles climbed into the carriage, dizzy with new sights, sounds, and being called "Mr. Xavier" without any apparent irony. He leaned back in the carriage, Maaike in his lap, and wondered what on earth he could possibly discover next.


End file.
